


you will never know (just how beautiful you are to me)

by boxerzayn



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anyways, M/M, au where they're not in one direction and they go on roadtrip, he's mentioned like once, i should maybe re-write this longer, it is what it is, like louis' tattoo, sorry that this was written kinda rushed and very late at night, well harry isn't really in it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 22:08:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boxerzayn/pseuds/boxerzayn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>zayn does see the beauty in drowning, though, but he doesn’t tell niall about it. about how ironic it would be, to die from water filling up his lungs, that after all the shit he’s put in his lungs, it’s not smoke that’ll kill him, it’s goddamn water.<br/>niall mumbles somthing about let’s go skinny dipping in the sea, and maybe drown, and zayn laughs and gets in the water with niall, (only a few metres out, he still can’t swim,) but he sees nialls face light up and yes, he’s zayns sunshine.<br/>or, zayn and niall go on a roadtrip through europe and it’s really just ed sheerans song wake me up as a fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you will never know (just how beautiful you are to me)

///

i should ink my skin, with your name.  
take my passport out again, and just replace it.

///

it’s a rainy day and zayn and niall are having pizza on the sofa in their apartment and its greasy and not very tasty and there’s nothing good on the telly and they’ve been inside way too much and argued a little and the cars outside are too loud and zayn needs to get out.  
he takes a smoke ouside on the balcony and doesn’t care that the creepy man from the other building probably sees him in just his underwear or that it’s too cold for september.  
when he comes back in, he says “niall, let’s do something crazy. i’ve got money, dammit. let’s tattoo ‘niall’ on my foot or go on a roadtrip or something”  
niall laughes but then he realises zayn is serious and he says that yeah, he needs to get out of london too, he hates the city sometimes, and yeah, zayn’s right. besides, they can slip by ireland and visit nialls parents (he hasn’t answered his moms calles the past week and he’s got a lump in his stomach) for just a couple of days atleast. zayn smiles and says offcourse, and before niall has time to make that phone call, they’re on their way to france.

///

see i could do without a tan, on my left hand, where my fourth finger meets my knuckle.  
and i should rem you a hot bath, and fill it up with bubbles.

///

they’re at some french restaurant that isn’t very fancy really but the food is delicious and they’ve laughed and gotten drunk on red whine and looked at the stars and everything is great right now, zayn thinks. they really needed this. he looks at the flowers who spine up across the white chalky wall, thinks that if they’d waited another week, the purple flowers would have already bloomed and that would have been such a pity. the flowers are beautiful. he wonders what they would look like in nialls hair.  
niall looks at him, like he knows a secret, his eyes dark and tingly and almost a husky green-blue, like the sky above them. the candle between them flimmers in front of his face, and he thinks, oh, how he likes the night and, oh, how he likes niall.  
“we should get married, some day.” he says quiety but not unsure, and niall laughs. it’s always his first reaction to everything, laughing. it’s a warm sound in the cold french air. zayn smiles. “we’d have my little sisters carry a buch of these behid us as we’d walk down the isle” zayn says and nods to the flowers on the wall. “and harry and his shitty band could play a song for us and our moms could cry”  
niall laughes at that, (white eskimo is a really crappy band) and it filles up zayns lungs like the smoke, warm but in a different way than the cigarrettes do, and he laughs too and everything is perfect. he loves the night.  
-  
he loves the mornings more, he’s just realised. he loves this; waking up to niall coming through the hotel door with croissants for breakfast. zayn gets up and greets niall with a kiss on the mouth, and they both taste like sleep but none of them care enough to pull away. “it’s cold out” niall conplains then, and zayn lets go of nialls red cheeks and walks to the bathroom and puts on the warm water, letting a hot bath fill up for after they’ve finished breakfast. it’s tiny and too hot and they’re all over each other in the small tub and it’s uncomfortable, (and they don’t bother to even use any soap) but niall is right next to zayn, his skin flushing red from the hot water and zayn smiles.

///

and maybe you’re loveable, and maybe you’re my snowflake, and your eyes turn from green to grey in the winter and i’ll hold you in a cold place.  
and you should never cut your hair, because i love the way you flick it of your shoulder, mm. maybe im just in love, when you wake me up.

///

they get to new cities and new countries every other day, and every morning niall wakes zayn up and zayn mumbles that he loves him an niall mumbles it back and they have lazy sex in the hotel beds, staining each sheet to show the world how much they love each other. it’s skin against skin and slow moovements and moans (that are too loud for the early hour) and eyelashes and blue eyes that are, zayn realises, almost grey, when it’s 9AM and raining and in germany. “i should maybe colour my roots again” niall mumbles, when they’ve just woken up between long and perfectly hairy legs and fresh sheets and cold fingers and warm breaths.  
“nah, i like your hair like this” zayn says, mindlessly pulling long fingers theough the blond-brown hair. during the afternoon they (actually go outside even though it’s bloody freezing “zayn no let’s just stay in bed” “i gotta buy some fags mate, we can cuddle as soon as we get back”) stop by lidl (tesco doesn’t exist in berlin to zayns huge dissapointment, tesco’s his favourite) and buy hair bleech and they don’t just bleech nialls hair in the small, cold bathroom, they dye a streak in zayns fringe too(“instead of the foot tattoo”) (“it’ll remind me of this trip when we get back home”)  
and they give each other handjobs in the bathroom as they’re waiting for the bleech to do its work in their hair and zayn cant stop smiling and thinking “this is great”. niall is great. roadtrip through europe is great.

///

and would you ever feel guilty, if you did the same to me? would you make me a cup of tea to open my eyes in the right way? and i know you love shrek, cause we’ve watched it twelve times, but maybe your’e open for a fairytale too, and if your dvd breakes, today, i should have got a vcr, because i’ve never owned a blueray, truesay

///

they stop by mullingar, like they planned, and zayn finds shrek 3 in tesco (finally) when he’s out shopping alone in his sweats one morning, and he can’t resist buying it for niall. when he gets home they watch it and eat häägen-daz on nialls’ mums sofa and after that they watch the first shrek again, becuase “this was hella’ funny but nothing beats the first and original” and it’s fine for zayn, he doesn’t really watch the film as much as he watches niall laugh, let’s the warmth from his chest and his laugh settle in his stomach. zayn thinks to himself how niall is his sunshine, and he probably mumbles it too,”you’re my sunshine, niall”, as he falls asleep on nialls shoulder halfway through it. everything’s great, especially when niall wakes him up with kisses and when that doesn’t quite work, tea and biscuites his mother made, and yeah, everything is really great now.

///

and i’ve always been shit at compuer games, and your brother always beets me, and if i lost, i’d go all cross and chuck all our controllers at the tv,

///

nialls brother comes home for dinner one day and he greets zayn with a firm handshake that reminds him of nialls hugs and it feels even more like home in nialls house now that the whole family is gathered. zayn feels like he fits in and niall squeezes his thigh during dinner and zayn doesn’t know if it means “you’re doing great, they love you” or if its a promise about some quick sex in the bathroom later.  
later they drink beer and play fifa with greg on the couch, and zayn’s really shitty at it. nialls pretty shitty too and greg is bloody fenomenal (“it’s because we don’t have a ps3 in the apartment, you prick”) and zayn throws the contollers across the room in all his fury and niall just laughs and brings zayn upstsairs to finally take care of the bulge in his sweatpants.

///

and then you’d laugh at me, and be asking me, if im gonna be home next week  
and then youd lie with me until i fall asleep, and flutter eyelash on my cheeks between the sheets.  
and you will never know, just how beautiful you are to me, mm. but maybe im just in love, when you wake me up.

///

they spend a couple of days in italy, then. they eat good food on the balcony and they sleep alot, wake up alot, all whiney breaths and rufsy blond and black hair and stubble (even a little on niall that he can’t stop bragging about) and zayn thinks there should be atleast a dozen poems written about nialls blond eyelashes on his cheek in the mornings because its the most beautiful thing he knows. or about his freckles that have spread on his nose from the sun in europe.  
“you’re beautiful” he says, his voice thick from sleep, and he knows niall is asleep and he wishes he wasn’t, wishes he could tell him and get it in nialls brain. he knows niall so well, and niall knows him so well -know the way he cant sleep with his socks on and how much toothpaste he uses and how he likes his tea (simple without milk or sugar) - and he thinks, that even with all this understanding and knowing between them, niall still doesn’t know how beautiful he is and zayns skin itches to show him.

///

i think you hate the smell of smoke, you always try get me to stop. but you drink as much as me, and i get drunk alot. and i’ll take you to the beach, and walk along the sand,  
and i’ll make you a heart pedal, with a pebble held in my hand, and i’ll carve it like a necklace, so the heart falls where your chest is, and now a piece of me is a piece of the beach and it falls just where it needs to be and rests, peacefully, and you just need to breathe, to feel my heart against yours, against yours now.

///

“why do you do that?” niall asks one day when they’re seated on a beach in spain and the sun is just setting and they’ve finished a whole bottle of vodka here on the beach and his break stinks but everything is breathtakingly beautiful.  
“it’ll kill ya someday”  
“nah,” zayn sighs. “i’m not gonna die from smoking. i’m gonna die from drowning or something. it’s the peacefullest way to die, i think harry told me.”  
niall hmm’s and zayn takes another bloss  
“not sure about the peaceful thing though” zayn mutters. “water is scary and not peaceful at all”  
he does see the beauty in drowning, though, but he doesn’t tell niall about it. about how ironic it would be, to die from water filling up his lungs, that after all the shit he’s put in his lungs, it’s not smoke that’ll kill him, it’s goddamt water.  
niall mumbles somthing about let’s go skinny dipping in the sea, and maybe drown, and zayn laughs and gets in the water with niall, (only a few metres out, he still can’t swim) but he sees nialls face light up and yes, he’s zayns sunshine.  
the sky goes dark and they get in their sandy clothes again that rasp their skin when they walk, but walk they do, for hours and hours on the beach, talking about romantic things that are normally too cheesy for niall and too embarresing for zayn, but they’re a little drunk and a little high and shitloads of happy and zayn gives niall a heart necklace - that has been burning on his thigh all night right through his pants (and it’s not like it’s a wedding ring or anything ) -, but he tells him that this way their hearts will be close always, nowmatter what. niall doesn’t laugh, he wipes away something on his cheek (“it’s not tears, you twat)” and kisses zayn more passionatly than he’s probably ever done.  
“i love you”  
“i love you too, niall.”

///

and you will never know just how beautiful you are to me, mm. but maybe im just in love when you wake me up, mm.

///

zayn wakes up in their appartment a few weeks after their roadtrip and nialls eyelashes are on zayns cheek and nialls eyes are grey because it’s october now, basicly winter in england, and he’s so happy.  
he realises, that he doesn’t need a silly roadtrip to europe or walks on beaches or fancy purple flowes or a streak of blond in his hair as long as he’s got his sunshine boy and no socks during the night and tea without sugar or milk and he fucking loves london again. he loves london because london is too loud, loud enough for him to feel it down in his stomach, and niall is too fucking loud too and he feels that in his stomach too and he’s so in love with niall and goddammit, he’s so in love with waking up like this.

///

maybe i fell in love when you woke me up.


End file.
